Page 43 of Ophelia's Vampire

“Well, it is.” Something heavy and thick and dangerous settles itself in my throat, and I cough it softly away. “Anyway. They’re great. All of them.”

Cas hums softly, and I don’t know how to read the sound, though that same pang of urgency and guilt makes itself known again as the conversation lulls.

I see an opening, so I take it.

“I also wanted…” I say, clearing my throat and pushing ahead before I can think better of it. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. For what happened between us. Seven years ago, I mean.”

He looks surprised, but not angry, with no trace of that bitter disappointment I remember with such terrible clarity.

“Is that what drew you to me?” he asks. “The promise of a life that might not take you from them so soon?”

“It’s not… that wasn’t what I…” I begin, then think better of it.

Some small, shameful,honestpart of me knows it’s at least a little true. Some part of medidwant that, once upon a time. To meet a handsome vampire, fall in love, become bloodbound, and not have to live with the crushing dread that always settles itself firmly on my chest when I think about my life in comparison to theirs.

But that’s not how life works, and trying to wedge my way into some vampire’s life because I see them as means to an end—as Cas so aptly put it—was entirely wrong of me.

It’s why I’ve never really blamed him for the way he coldly dismissed me, how he saw right through me and cut me down to size.

And it’s the reason I owe him the truth now.

“Yeah, I think that was part of it. Even if I didn’t want to admit it to myself. And I’m sorry for it, I really am, Cas.” I take a moment to collect myself before continuing. One more truth lingers in the back of my mind, the darkness and the hush of space between us making me bold enough to give it to him. “But it wasn’t… it wasn’t the only thing that drew me to you.”

The confession, as soft and halting as it is, draws another look of surprise to his face. He opens his mouth to say something, but movement from across the street catches my attention before he can.

“There,” I say with a sharp nod to the building. “At the door. That’s Devin.”

Cas follows my gaze, eyes narrowing when he spots the dark-haired young man opening the building’s front door.

I sit up straighter in my seat. “Is that… is that blood on his shirt?”

He’s spattered withsomething, though it’s hard to make out exactly what it is in the low light.

Glancing over at Cas, I find him with his eyes fixed in concentration, studying Devin. I’m glad to have his superior vampire sight in this moment, as I can’t make heads or tails of what I’m looking at.

He shakes his head slowly, then juts his chin back toward the door Devin just walked through, where another two figures appear, carrying a large canvas between them.

“Paint, I think.”

The whole canvas is covered in the kind of modernistic, abstract designs I can never quite fully appreciate or understand as art. Carried by two other people who also look young enough to be students, they carefully maneuver it through the open door before loading it up into the back of a van parked against the curb.

One of the students carrying the canvas—a young man with a mop of blonde hair—trips slightly on the curb. Though it’s impossible to hear them from this distance, at least for me, it’s easy enough to see Devin and the other student—a red-headed young woman—laugh and give him some playful ribbing as they finish loading up. All three climb into the van, and a few seconds later the vehicle starts and the taillights flash as Devin pulls it out onto the road.

We follow, staying a few cars behind as they return to the Northeastern campus and stop outside the Arts building, then scan themselves in before taking the painting inside. We sit and wait and watch, silent now and focused on our work, until they all reappear. They each go their separate ways, and Cas and I slip from the car to tail Devin across campus.

Keeping to the shadows, we follow him all the way back to a dormitory. He stops just outside the entrance, posture abruptly straightening, and Cas and I duck down in unison to hide ourselves behind the hedge running along the path.

He rests one hand on my back, and I try not to read too much into that touch. I try not to examine what it means that the press of his fingers echoes all the way up to his mark on my neck, even though it’s been days since he bit me and the wound is almost completely healed.

Instead, I narrow my eyes and peer through the bushes. Devin looks right, then left, and then—apparently satisfied nothing’s out of the ordinary—turns back to the building in frontof him. He uses his keycard to scan himself in, and as the door shuts behind him, I turn to Cas.

“That’s it?” I ask, standing with a huff of frustration. “A late night art project?”

Cas stands as well and shrugs. “Audra did say he was likely a student at the university, didn’t she? Just some kid who’s in over his head with all this?”

“Yeah. I suppose she did. Not sure how any of this is going to help us, though.”

“Maybe it will. Maybe it won’t. We can report back to Audra and see if there’s anything useful here in getting him to talk.”

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